Supernaturally Bad Luck
by Shiny Marble
Summary: The Winchester brothers land in Lancre after a hunt goes wrong & the Discworld enjoys ripping down their ideas about good & evil. Rated T for possible violence & swearing in later chapters.
1. In Mortal Peril

**Disclaimer:** _I own neither Supernatural nor the Discworld, or any characters from either. I don't claim them to be mine, and I won't __ever__ make money from this – so this story comes under 'Fair Use' of Copyright Laws. This disclaimer stands for the whole story. _

_Please enjoy. _

~~~~~~~~~~.~~~~~~~~~~

They were in mortal peril. Then again, when were they not? Sam and Dean Winchester; battling evil and risking life and limb for the sake of... well, if not the world, then at least the towns and cities inhabited by creatures with supernatural killing abilities.

This time it was a witch... or, more accurately, a coven of witches. A coven of _weather _witches. And they weren't happy in the slightest. The Winchester brothers had managed to cut short a ceremony that would have killed a nosy neighbour with a strike of lightning. It wasn't like Sam and Dean had much trouble finding them though, with the trail of bodies left in the wake of the coven's wrath: they'd frozen a cheating husband with a _very_ localised blizzard in the office where he was 'working late', they'd killed a loan-shark that was owed money from half the coven – drying and superheating the air in his bedroom while he slept, and they'd even summoned a tornado that touched down on only the houses of people who were threatening the job security of the coven members.

Sam and Dean were tied together, sitting uncomfortably in the middle of a stone circle that the witches had constructed to magnify their powers. Even though it was the middle of July in a clearing of the woods just outside of the town of Wellsboro in Pennsylvania,* it was starting to snow. The little white flakes were drifting down from the cloudless sky and settling on the ground (and, by extension, Sam and Dean) within the stone circle. The brothers could only just make out the silhouettes of the witches around outside of the stone circle, but it was easy to hear the chanting.

"This is a fine mess we've gotten ourselves into, isn't it Sam?" Dean hissed to his brother, trying to loosen the bonds with as much wriggling as he could manage inconspicuously.  
"We wouldn't _be_ in this mess if you hadn't gone charging in without knowing how many of them there _were_ first." Sam hissed back, trying to think of a way to survive their predicament. "Dean, you wouldn't happen to have anything sharp at hand, would you? We could really use it right now."  
"_Do I look like I have anything sharp?_" Dean snapped irritably, shaking his head to dislodge some snow. "Do you think I'd just be sitting here waiting to freeze if I had something sharp to cut these ropes?"

Sam shrugged, causing a mini avalanche off his shoulders. The snow was getting heavier now as the witches' chanting was rising in volume. The grass inside the circle was becoming well and truly covered with snow and the brothers' breaths were forming little clouds that rose up and drifted away. It was _really_ cold now.

And then there was a tug... a strange pulling feeling as if an invisible person was trying to lift the brothers to their feet but wasn't strong enough to do so.  
Sam frowned. "Do you feel that Dean?"  
"Yeah I feel that. What _is_ it?" the older brother said, turning his head to look for the source.  
"It's definitely not weather magic, that's for sure." Sam replied steadily.

The tugging continued insistently, then disappeared when everything suddenly went silent. The snowflakes stopped in midair, hovering motionless with no apparent effort. The witches' silhouettes were no longer moving either, halted in utter stillness that was obviously not natural. It was as if time itself had stopped. Both brothers' eyebrows rose to their hairlines – surprise completely overwhelming them.

"You still with me, Sam?" Dean said, his voice breaking the eyrie silence.  
"Yeah, but... _what_ is going _on_?" Sam asked, bewilderment evident in his tone. "This is completely beyond these weather witches, and nothing's jumping out at us now. Maybe whatever did this doesn't want to hurt us."  
"Yeah?" Dean shot back sarcastically, "When have we _ever_ been that lucky?"

The world lunged sideways, throwing the brothers into the snow drift and everything started to move again. Well, the snowflakes began to fall again. There didn't seem to be the sound of a dozen chanting witches nearby... or anything much. However, there was the sound of hoof beats in the distance, carried across the snowy air with unrealistic swiftness, and they were getting closer.

"You just _had_ to say it, didn't you Sam?" Dean said, muffled by the snow in his face but loud enough for his brother to hear. "You had to say that it might not want to hurt us."  
"I'm sorry for living in _hope_, Dean." He grumbled back, trying to wriggle to an upright position. "And why is your back so uncomfortable anyway?" Sam snapped, finally fed up with the feeling of a cold, hard object pressing into his spine.  
"Oh, it's just a horseshoe. Sort of a good luck thing." Dean said a bit sheepishly. "And also in case we ever needed the iron." He added hastily to stop his brother accusing him of believing in luck.

The hoof beats were close now, and as Dean and Sam struggled upright a mounted figure approached them. The first thing they noticed was the rather large horn on the horse's head. It was, the brothers realised together, exactly what a child would expect a unicorn to look like – beautiful, pale, with a silvery mane and equally silvery horn... just without the rainbows and fluffy kitten companion. And then they saw the unicorn's rider. He was... pointy. He had pointed ears, a pointed nose, a pointy little chin, and blond pointy hair that male models and teenage boys would _kill_ for. And he was beautiful... in a pointy, male way of course.

The elf, for there was no doubt in either of the Winchester boys' minds that the creature was an elf, looked down at them with disgust on his pointy features. He slid effortlessly off the unicorn and bent down to look more closely at Sam and Dean.  
"How did you get here?" The elf asked, his pointy voice (_How could a __**voice**__ be __**pointy**__?_ Sam wondered) leaving no room for anything but answers.  
"Witches." Dean said simply, finding the easiest explanation.

The elf hissed, clearly displeased by the answer. He unsheathed a beautiful (and, of course, pointy) silver sword and cut the ropes that bound the brothers without a word, but with a cruel glint in his eyes that promised pain.

"Can you be amusing?" The elf said as Sam and Dean got up and dusted the snow off themselves.  
"Can you go screw yourself?" Dean shot back the elf, clearly unimpressed at the question.  
Sam almost laughed, and in an instant the thought couldn't have been further from his mind.

_This elf is just so __**good**__, _the thought floated through Sam's dazzled brain completely unbidden, _how can Dean say something like that to something that is just so clearly __**better**__ than us?  
_"Sam, stop making googly eyes at the elf boy!" Dean hissed, punching his brother in the shoulder.  
Sam shot him a filthy look before gazing at the elf in awe again.

The elf (or Mr. Pointy, as Dean had begun mentally labelling him) focused intently on the older brother, eyes roaming over him in a menacing manner. The unicorn behind him pawed at the ground impatiently.

"How do you resist, _human_?" The elf spat, lifting his sword threateningly.  
"I have a strong will." Dean said stoically, watching the weapon with caution. Slowly and deliberately, he reached for Sam's arm. "Stronger than my brother's will, that's for sure."  
"No." The elf said quietly, a frown marring his pale features. "My glamour should have you begging me for attention. You should be _dizzy_ under it."  
"You're frying Sam's brain?" Dean asked, anger lacing his voice. He grabbed hold of his brother's forearm slowly.  
"That's not important." The elf dismissed, stalking towards the brothers. Sam's eyes lit up with a mix of happiness and disbelief at getting closer to the most important thing ever. "What is important is-"

"Don't you _**dare**_ say he's not important." Dean hissed. And then he did the only thing he could think of – he tore the string around his neck that held the horseshoe in place, lifted it out of his jacket, tossed it at the elf and then turned and ran with Sam in tow.

All in all, it worked _a lot_ better than he had thought it would.

The elf screamed as if burning, and the unicorn turned and fled in the opposite direction. Sam snapped out of his happy-daydream-stupor and began to run with a fervour matching Dean's own, no longer being dragged along. Charging through the snow together as they ran, they aimed for the only noticeable thing in the distance – a row of standing stones. There was green grass and sunlight on the other side. It looked like a positive place to go.

They ran, and Dean thought that maybe the horseshoe did bring him luck. They were getting close to the stones now and Dean risked a look behind them to see if they were being pursued. To his immense surprise, they weren't. It was as if the snowy landscape had swallowed the elf whole, leaving no trace.

They passed through the stones, just as a pair of birds flew over their heads and into the snowy land of the elves.

~~~~~~~~~~.~~~~~~~~~~

The witch known as Granny Weatherwax was on edge. It was circle time again, and she was remembering the last incident around that time with the... lords and ladies, and she had been the best of the best that night – becoming part of the swarm, shoeing a unicorn and bringing an elf queen to her knees. Fortunately, as far as she was aware, there had been no silly happenings around the Dancers that could call to the Queen and her people, but Granny was on edge regardless. Something felt wrong in the world, as if even though the lords and ladies hadn't been called something was passing through from their world anyway. It was a disconcerting feeling to say the least.

She made up her mind, then and there, to go visit the standing stones known as the Dancers, and just before she left her cottage she retrieved her solid iron poker and a spare horseshoe that she stored in the privy – which was there because you never knew when you might need the iron.

On her way up to the Dancers there was nothing out of the ordinary. Birds were singing, the breeze was blowing, harmless little things were rustling in the bushes, the sun was shining – the perfect example of a completely normal day. Granny Weatherwax walked over the peak of the hill, the moment she was looking directly at the Dancers, a pair of birds flew between the stones and a pair of people stumbled out. They were covered in snow.

Horror crept up Granny's spine – if they were coming out of _her_ land then they were almost certainly part of the fair folk, and if they were able to come through even when they weren't called... well that meant they were getting more powerful. Much _too_ powerful for witches like Granny and Nanny Ogg and Magrat Garlick and Agnes Nitt to handle, even if they could get along for long enough to present a united defence. Granny steeled her face into the most fearsome expression she could muster (which was quite fearsome) and strode towards the newcomers with purpose.

Granny Weatherwax wasn't happy, and she didn't care who knew it.

~~~~~~~~~~.~~~~~~~~~~

**A/N:**_ Well, this is the first chapter in my Discworld-Supernatural Crossover Fanfic, and as you might have guessed it involves the witches. I had tried another starting point in a crossover fic of these, but it didn't go anywhere, so you're welcome to one that did work out. Anyway, I realised that this is the first Supernatural X Discworld fanfiction that isn't intended to be a crack fic. I truly do intend for this to be a serious (or as serious as Discworld can get) crossover. Sorry if this bursts anyone's bubbles. _

*This place was chosen at _complete_ random – if any readers are from this area, I have no experience with it (or with practically anywhere in America, to be honest) and I'm not trying to say anything about it. It was just a place I happened to pick out, out of dozens of possible alternatives.

_Also, I probably won't update in a while. Probably. Hopefully it will only take a couple of weeks, max, but there's no guarantee.  
But, no matter how long it takes, it **will** come. _


	2. A Test with Iron

**A/N: **_Thank you to those who have already read and reviewed this story, your support at such an early stage is unexpected and __**hugely**__ appreciated. I hope you continue to read and enjoy this story!  
Also, please note that I will draw on several different Terry Pratchett books over the course of this Fanfiction, and while it isn't necessary to have read them for understanding my story it makes it more enjoyable. And Sam and Dean have this adventure sometime in Season 3, but it's a bit vague on when __**specifically**__ and I don't plan on giving any spoilers so if you haven't seen that far it shouldn't be an issue either. Just thought it was pertinent. _

* * *

**A Test with Iron** – Chapter 2 of 'Supernaturally Bad Luck'  
_ a Supernatural/Discworld Crossover Fic by Shiny Marble_

* * *

Sam and Dean collapsed on the ground after stumbling from between the standing stones. The warm, sunny, grassy ground was so different to the snowy wasteland they'd just come from. The snow melted quickly, leaving unpleasantly soggy patches on the Winchester brothers' clothes and making their hair damp.

Sam sat up after a short while and looking towards the standing stones he saw... a disturbing _lack_ of snowy landscape. He could see across the stone circle and the miles of woods beyond that. The stone circle was no more than a few yards across and certainly _not_ containing any hint of the enormous pale panorama that he and Dean had just escaped from. Even though Sam realised that his mind was still slightly fuzzy from what the elf had done, he was absolutely convinced that he shouldn't be seeing greenery for miles around – not to mention the stones had looked much taller in the snow than they did here, changing from towering monoliths to being only a little higher than Dean was.

"Dean," Sam began uncertainly. "Where did the snow go?"  
"Don't be ridiculous Sam, it was right behind us." Dean said, sitting up as he did so. Then his eyebrows shot up in surprise as he took in the new surroundings. "How the _hell_ did that happen?"

Before Sam could even hazard an answer, a strong clear voice rang out from behind them.  
"It's Circle Time," the woman's voice said cryptically. "The gap between this world and others is close enough to cross." There was a pause, as if expecting the brothers to say something. "But normally you'd have to be called to come from _that_ place. And nobody's been calling, that much I know."

The Winchesters had turned to face the source of the voice, only to be confronted with more trees across a clearing with no speaker in view. Then a tall elderly woman stepped out from behind a tree trunk, dressed in shabby black clothing of indeterminate age, carrying a poker in one hand and wearing a pointed black hat. The image put one in mind of the most stereotypically witch anyone could envision and her severe expression and piercing blue eyes did nothing to detract from that.

_Surely no __**real**__ witch would __**advertise**__ it like that... would they?_ Sam thought cautiously._ It would be just asking a Hunter to come along and do them in, like having big flashing lights above their head saying "come and get me, I'm a murdering psychopath"... but hang on, _Sam thought, realisation dawning on him, _she's __**old**__. All the witches I've __**ever**__ seen look like they're in their twenties or thirties, not in their late __**sixties**__. Either she's not a witch or she's not a __**vain**__ witch. _

The old witch-like woman approached them with no apparent caution. "You're not from around here," she stated with absolute certainty.  
"That about sums us up." Dean said gruffly, getting to his feet and brushing at the damp spots on his clothes before helping his brother up.  
"I'm Sam Winchester and this is Dean, my brother." Sam said, trying to cover for his brother's lack of manners as he closed the small distance, offering his hand in greeting.

The woman looked at it for a moment, before handing him the sooty end of the poker without a word. She nodded in approval at the lack of a pained reaction from the taller brother, who frowned in confusion as he wiped his sooty hand on his trousers, and strode over to Dean, to whom she tossed the horseshoe. When Dean caught it without effort she nodded again, then took back the horseshoe and beckoned them to follow.

"I'm Granny Weatherwax," the old woman said in clipped tones, once out of sight of the stone circle and well on the winding forest path. "And I'm the witch of these parts."

Sam and Dean immediately stopped in their tracks. Granny Weatherwax, however, seemed not to have noticed – she kept walking without looking around. She hadn't even _paused_ for that matter.

The brothers shared significant looks.

"What should we do?" Dean asked quietly to avoid drawing the old woman's attention. "Should we gank her, or run?"  
"We can't just _kill_ her!" Sam whispered furiously. "There's no guarantee she's an actual witch!"  
"_She's wearing a __**pointed hat**__!_" Dean hissed in response. "_She looks __**exactly**__ like how you'd expect a witch to look, and she SAID SHE WAS A WITCH! What more proof do you want?"  
_"She's _old_ Dean." Sam argued pointedly. "Have you ever seen an _old_ witch?" He raised an eyebrow emphatically and then shrugged. "Maybe 'witch' doesn't mean the same thing here as back home."

Dean rolled his eyes but refrained from saying anything more. Sam shook his head and set off along the path quickly to try and catch up with the self proclaimed witch who was now out of sight, the sound of her heavy boots crunching through twigs and leaves not too far away. Dean sighed heavily and followed a few paces behind.

"Good choice." Granny Weatherwax said as they fell in step behind her again. "I wasn't planning to wait for you to get over whatever you've got against witches to help you out of here." She glanced over her shoulder, pinning Dean with a cold gaze. "If you got lost in the woods it would be your own fault."  
Dean was uneasy, not quite sure if his and Sam's quiet conversation had been heard by the old woman or not... but he was pretty sure that the witch didn't like him in the slightest. He was right about that, not that it mattered much – Granny Weatherwax didn't like many people, and even those she _did_ like weren't treated any different.

They were getting close to the town now, and Granny was still trying to decide what to do with the brothers.  
_They aren't from around here, _Granny Weatherwax thought. _Their forn* voices and fancy clothes give that away. And that means they ain't got anywhere to stay. But since they're here, in __**my**__ area, it means I'm responsible for them, just like I'm responsible for the townspeople. _

The taller of the brothers fell into step beside her, and examined her in a manner he probably thought was discrete. What he was looking for, Granny couldn't guess, but she rather thought he was searching for something specific.

"So, um, Granny Weatherwax-" Sam began at last, awkwardly tripping over the use of 'Granny'.  
"You may call me Mistress Weatherwax if you prefer." The woman interrupted, accurately interpreting his verbal stumble. "Some people do."  
"Oh, okay," the younger Winchester said, privately thankful for the offer. To him, 'Granny' sounded far too familiar and affectionate to refer to someone he just met. "Well, Mistress Weatherwax, may I ask where we're going now?"

Granny Weatherwax tilted her head slightly to look at the tall man from under her hat, her piercing blue eyes meeting his dark ones for a moment before she turned away again.  
"We're heading to Lancre after stopping by my cottage." She said, finally deciding what to do with the Winchester boys. "I've got to see a friend."  
Sam heard a sound from behind them, and was under the distinct impression that his older brother was muttering something about 'gingerbread houses' and 'readying the oven'. Sam tried very hard to cover his snort of amusement with a cough, which didn't fool Granny in the slightest. She turned to Dean and pinned him with an icy stare.

"I'm not deaf." Granny Weatherwax said, her tone dangerous. "And don't you be saying things like _that_ behind my back."  
"I'm sorry." Dean said, defensiveness pouring off him and not sounding sorry at all. "I didn't mean to offend."  
Granny sniffed, clearly not believing a word he said, but refusing to say anything further because bickering was reserved for friends. Being bitingly polite was for those who a witch disliked.

Their path opened out into a clearing, which seemed to be a garden of sorts. There were various herbs growing in wooden boxes scattered around the place, as well as a shed, an outdoor lavatory and a little cottage that appeared to be made out of whatever was convenient at the time; wood, brick and a thatched roof that looked in need of repair.

Granny Weatherwax walked to the back door and opened it with ease, but the fact it was unlocked didn't worry her in the slightest. Witches never locked their doors – they didn't need to. Who would be stupid enough to steal from a witch?

"This is my home." Granny said plainly, leading the brothers inside. "You, keep an eye on 'em." She said, her words directed towards a white cat lounging regally on a chair. **

The cat glanced up at the Winchester boys, blinked, and then looked away with obvious disinterest. Sam rounded on Dean when they were alone again.  
"Dean, you could at least _try_ to be polite," the younger brother said with irritation in his voice, "She's been nothing but helpful to us. And you don't have _any_ reason to be suspicious."  
Dean shot his brother a sceptical look. "Sam. We've gotta keep our wits about us. There's no telling what could happen if we don't."

"Really?" Sam asked with exasperation. "Is that the best you can do Dean? Of _course_ we should keep our eyes open, I never said we shouldn't, but that's no excuse to be rude."  
Dean rolled his eyes. Manners were not his strongest point, and he had got along fine with the bare essentials so far in his life, so he really didn't see the need to learn them now.  
"This isn't a hunt, Dean." Sam said quietly but emphatically, all but saying the matter was closed.

"Do you have any idea where we are?" Dean asked, dropping the topic in favour of one that might help them. "Cuz we're definitely not in Wellsboro anymore."

Sam became uncomfortable. "She said we'd be going to 'Lancre' but I've never heard of it before." He said, a perplexed expression on his face. "Judging by her accent though, I'd guess we're in rural England somewhere... but the landscape doesn't match up with anything I know about Britain."  
"So, in other words, you don't have any idea where we are at all." Dean said, scowling. Sam shook his head in response. "And I thought you knew everything."

* * *

Granny Weatherwax returned with a broomstick in hand. She went over to the cat and then picked it up and draped it across her shoulders like a living fur scarf, the cat seemingly unfazed, before walking to the back door again and gesturing to the Winchesters to follow her.

"Why not use the front door?" Sam asked curiously, noting that it was closer than the back door.  
"I never use my front door." Granny said dismissively.  
"Why? If there's something wrong with it, I'm sure my brother and I could help to fix it." Sam offered, including Dean in an attempt to get the old lady to forget his impoliteness.

She looked at him searchingly, the emotion in her eyes utterly unfathomable. "Witches don't use front doors." Granny finally said, as if the answer should have been obvious.  
"Oh." Sam said, feeling uneasy at the use of the word 'witch', despite the reassurances he gave Dean. "Where are we?"  
"This is the town of Bad Ass," Granny said with utter seriousness, and Dean quirked an eyebrow in amusement and tried to smother his grin. "Bad Ass and several other towns make up the Kingdom of Lancre." ***

"Oh. Of course..." Sam said weakly, as he followed her out the door. He hadn't recognised the place name, but had previously overlooked the lack of knowledge on the assumption that it was simply a small town.

He never dreamed that Lancre was a _kingdom_...

**~~~~~.~~~~~**

* * *

**AN:** _Okay, so that's Chapter 2 done, here's the 'footnotes'/'endnotes' of the things of interest in text. _

* 'forn' is how Granny Weatherwax pronounces the word 'foreign', as it written in Terry Pratchett's books, especially in _Witches Abroad._

** 'You' is Granny Weatherwax's pure white cat, gifted to her by Tiffany Aching (the young witch of the chalk-lands below Lancre Kingdom, in the book _Wintersmith_), called thus because Granny couldn't be bothered to name the kitten and always just referred to it as 'You'.

*** The town of 'Bad Ass' was named because of a disobedient donkey (_yeah, I bet you didn't expect that_) that got half way across a river and then stopped, and despite its owner's best efforts the donkey refused to go forward or backwards. When they (finally) reached the other side they set up a town named after the donkey. Of course, Dean doesn't know this, and finds it _hilarious_, because seriously, who wouldn't?

_So chapter 3 is in the works and just about half(ish) done. I have been considering suggestions of where to go with this all because it's not all superbly planned out (as if any of my stories ever are) – but I will almost definitely bring the Winchester bro's to Ankh-Morpork. If you want to see a favourite character of yours, please review and I'll try to work them into it somewhere. =)  
Thanks for reading! _


	3. Out of Range

**A/N: **_Here's a quick thanks to my super awesome friend, nzotaku, without whom this story would have inconsistencies and errors abound. Okay, maybe I'm not __**quite**__ that bad, but she certainly improves my writing and story. _

* * *

Supernaturally Bad Luck, Chapter 3:  
**Out of Range**

~~~~~~.~~~~~~

The walk to the town of Lancre was not long, however it was disappointingly dull. They walked in silence, mostly because Granny Weatherwax wasn't the kind of person to offer idle chitchat and Sam and Dean weren't sure what to say without seeming rude or stupidly ignorant. Plus, it was a little awkward talking with a self-proclaimed witch (who was obviously unconcerned with calling herself that) when the brothers' previous encounters with witches were decidedly less than pleasant.

The town of Lancre was small and closely packed, with a dirt road leading up to a castle that seemed to be seriously in danger of falling into a ravine. There were some sheep and goats meandering about and little gardens by the houses. Sam would have described it as rustic and picturesque, while Dean would have said that it looked quite dull. The first building that caught their attention, however, was what seemed to be an old fashioned blacksmith, complete with dark smoke rising lazily from the chimney and an anvil beside the door.

It was as if the Winchesters had been transported to 18th Century rural England.

Granny Weatherwax lead Sam and Dean behind a house that appeared to be somewhat attached to its neighbour, with several ropes strung between the buildings as if tethered to prevent it wandering off. The back door was slightly ajar, and swung open with a creak as Granny pushed.  
"Gytha?" She called out, her voice unconcerned and forceful as she stepped inside. "Gytha Ogg, you best be here."  
There was a muffled reply from within the house and Granny pulled the brothers inside, closing the door behind them.

The first impression of the house was that it was _nothing_ like Granny Weatherwax's cottage. There were photographs taking up all available wall space, trinkets and knick-knacks cluttering every flat surface in view, and a cat bowl with the word 'Greebo' clumsily written on the side. All in all this house looked much more homely than Granny's had.

A door opened to the kitchen, and out stepped an old lady that was as dissimilar to Granny Weatherwax as it was possible to be. Though she was fair-skinned, elderly, and dressed like a witch, this woman had a friendly face with layers upon layers of laughter wrinkles. Short and plump, she greeted Granny with a nearly toothless smile.

"Esme, I didn't expect you 'round," she said jovially before glancing at the Winchesters. "I see you brought guests too. Let me rustle up some tea."  
Granny nodded curtly, as if accepting the offer with gratitude would cripple her dignity.  
"Rosie!" The other woman yelled back into the kitchen, "Put the kettle on, and get out four mugs and the biscuit tin – I've got company!"

"Gytha," Granny said, settling herself into a chair and putting her cat on the ground."These are Sam and Dean Winchester."  
"I'm Nanny Ogg." The other woman said simply, giving the brothers a gummy smile.  
"Nice to meet you... Nanny," Sam said, somehow infinitely more comfortable with calling this woman 'Nanny' than Mistress Weatherwax 'Granny', probably because of her friendly and comforting disposition. "Sorry to intrude like this. I'm Sam, by the way. Dean's my brother."

Nanny waved a hand dismissively as a young woman wearing an apron came in with four cups of tea, a small milk jug, a bowl of sugar and a plate of biscuits.  
"Rosanne, you can finish up the scrubbing now." Nanny said to the girl imperiously, as if rather than a chore, doing the dishes was an exciting privilege.  
She looked unhappy but resigned, and as she turned away Dean heard her mutter, "My name is _Roslyn_!"*

Granny Weatherwax helped herself to a cup of tea and started spooning sugar into it quickly, as if expecting someone to snatch it away from her. Sam took a cup with as much enthusiasm as he could muster and, taking a polite sip, watched Dean eying the tea suspiciously.

Nanny Ogg began to chat amicably about multiple topics: the weather, her cat, her sons and grandbabies, the state of the chimney (with a few not so subtle hints, yelled over her shoulder to the 'housemaid') and general gossip.

"Gytha, these boys came through the Dancers." Granny interrupted quietly, after her tea was half drained and the biscuit plate empty.  
Nanny's demeanour changed immediately, her gaze sharpening as her features shifted from kindly and cheerful to hard and wary.  
"Iron?" She asked sharply, her eyes darting from the brothers to Granny and back again.  
"Yes... and they're not of _that_ land, Gytha." Granny Weatherwax said, not quite sounding reassuring. "But they ain't from 'round here either."

"What land?" Dean asked, feeling out of the loop from all of the cryptic comments.  
"The Snowy Land," Nanny Ogg said. "_Her_ land."  
"_Whose_ land?" Dean questioned with irritation.  
"We were in the snow before," Sam added, quietly hoping that if he offered some information they might be given some in return. "The landscape looked different when we came through the standing stones, too. Why was that?"  
There was a pause in which Granny Weatherwax and Nanny Ogg seemed to silently communicate. "It's the place of the Lords and Ladies." Nanny said reluctantly, "They don't like iron, things from that place, that's why the Dancers keep them out."

"The standing stones?" Sam asked, brow furrowing. "They didn't look like iron."  
"It's thunder-bolt iron," Granny said, sounding as cryptic as ever. "The stones have the love of iron. It's even worse for the Fair Folk than the regular stuff." **

Sam leaned back, suddenly realising that both women were avoiding saying a particular word... and it seemed to be deliberate.  
"Are you talking about elves?" Dean asked abruptly – obviously not quite getting the hints.  
In one smooth movement, Granny Weatherwax stood from her chair, strode across the room and cuffed the eldest Winchester around the head.  
"Don't call to them, boy," Granny hissed menacingly. "They _will_ come if you call to them."

"Call 'em the Fair Folk, or the Lords and Ladies," Nanny Ogg added helpfully. "That way we all know what's being talked about and you're not saying the 'E' word."  
"Sorry, I didn't know." Dean said, thoroughly abashed, "We saw one of them when we were there. He tried to fry our brains with 'glamour'."

Identical expressions of utter disbelief were on both Nanny Ogg's and Granny Weatherwax's faces.  
"You boys _resisted_ their glamour _in their own land_?" Nanny asked, apparently more able to form words than her friend. "Well, colour me impressed."  
"No, it was just Dean," Sam said, trying not to sound sullen. "_I_ just stood there thinking about how wonderful he was."

"_How?_" Granny asked, turning her stare to the older Winchester. "It's not possible to repel their enchantments. Not without magic or iron."  
"Well, that's discouraging," Dean smirked. "Here I thought I had some amazing superpower and it was all because of that horseshoe."  
There was a long pause, then Granny said, "And where is it now?"  
"Oh, I threw it at Mr. Pointy the fairy-man and bolted with Sammy-boy." Dean said with a lopsided grin. "He screamed like a girl."  
Sam rolled his eyes at the overabundance of nicknames, but didn't say anything.

"You left iron in the Snowy Land?" Granny Weatherwax asked, voice sounding uncharacteristically faint. "That's quite possibly the _worst_ thing you could have done."  
"Yeah, they'll hate you for that." Nanny added, "Not that they wouldn't hate you just because you're human and alive – the Fair Folk are nasty that way – but they'll hate you extra hard for leaving iron with them."

"But why does that matter?" Sam asked, brow furrowing. "You said they can't come here unless they're called, so why would it matter that they're gonna hate us with a vengeance? It's not like Dean and I are strangers to being despised."  
"Perhaps. But they'll try extra hard to get through now." Granny said. "The iron makes them blind, y'see? The Lords and Ladies know where they are exactly, all the time, but iron dulls their magic and it's the only time they feel human. And that hurts them." She glanced at the Winchester brothers, her blue eyes piercing. "They won't ever forgive. They won't ever stop trying to hurt you for leaving iron in that place."

* * *

Meanwhile, in another part of the multiverse on a planet called 'Earth', the man known as Bobby Singer was getting worried. Not that he'd ever admit such a thing, of course.

Bobby had sent Sam and Dean off to stop the murder-spree of the witches in Pennsylvania. He'd helped them identify the group as weather witches and had even managed to scrounge up the literature on how to defeat them. They couldn't be killed by any means available to them currently, but their powers could be temporarily removed if they were branded with an anti-magic sigil – and that left them vulnerable and unable to hurt anyone else.

Then Bobby had received a call from Sam that chilled him to the core._  
_'_Bobby! We've been ambushed, there's too ma-'_ the boy's voice had cut off abruptly, the following silence lasting for two long seconds before the call was dropped.

That was twelve hours ago.

He'd called back later, several times, only for it to go straight to voicemail on both the boys' phones. It was even more of a concern because they almost never had their cells turned off, and having satellite phones meant they were always in range.

Bobby knew that he was too far away to come to their aid. Hell, he didn't even know where the boys were when they were ambushed. He'd be less than useless wandering around the town of Wellsboro asking after Sam and Dean, so he'd stayed put... and _hated_ himself for it.

Now he was trawling through the Wellsboro Times webpage – looking for evidence of the Winchester brothers, one way or another.

"Snowstorm in July?" Bobby read aloud, clicking the link to the promising article. He skimmed over the short passage for any sign that Sam and Dean had either perished or survived. When there was no mention of them he breathed a sigh of relief. He wouldn't give up hope yet, not when he had so little to hope for in general, but he couldn't help the niggling worry at the back of his mind. If the boys weren't dead or in danger, why hadn't they called?

The article caught his eye again and went to study it more thoroughly, his habitual frown becoming deeper as he read.

"Twelve women found dead in the woods outside town, surrounding a stone circle covered by three feet of snow." He said aloud, realising that the corpses were the weather witches. "The women were gored and trampled to death... What the hell have those idjits done now?"

* * *

At the Ogg household the conversation had lulled. Granny was staring moodily into her cup of tea as if it would refill itself if she willed it hard enough. Nanny had left the sitting-room and was loudly berating the girl in the kitchen for not cleaning something-or-other properly. Sam and Dean glanced at each other awkwardly.

"I think I'll give Bobby a call. Let him know we're alright." Dean said, fishing around in his jacket pocket for his phone. He brought up Bobby's number quickly and hit the 'Call' button.

Nothing happened.

Dean frowned in irritation and glared at the phone before realisation dawned.  
"Oh," he said, feeling foolish. "No signal."  
"It's a satellite phone," Sam said, snatching the phone out of his brother's hand. "It can't be. Out. Of... range...?" His words ended up disjointed, sounding more like a question as Sam examined the mobile phone and checked the settings.  
"Okay. We _are_ out of range." He retrieved his phone, which he had hastily stashed away when they were ambushed, and checked it for comparison. "Mine's down too. It can't be just a coincidence."

"How did you get _into_ the Snowy Land?" Granny Weatherwax asked suddenly, lifting her sharp gaze to the Winchester brothers.  
"Dunno," Dean shrugged. "One minute we were tied up in the middle of a stone circle, the next -poof!- we're waist deep in a snow drift in Fairy Land."  
"Some... people," Sam said, only narrowly avoiding using the word 'witch', "were summoning a snowstorm within the circle."

Granny's expression went from stern to grave, and she shook her head. "That's enough to call them. Fools," she shook her head again as if despairing at the idiocy of people. "And when you two went in, two of them went out."  
Nanny Ogg poked her head around the corner. "Why were you tied up?" She asked, apparently able to hear through walls despite her age. "You two don't seem the type to get tied up much."

"Uh... we were kinda ambushed." Sam said awkwardly. "We were trying to stop a group of people from hurting other people..." He trailed off.

There was silence. It was a compelling sort of silence, as if it was inviting conversation to fill it, and it seemed to be coming from Nanny Ogg.

"It's hard to explain." Sam said, finally breaking the quiet and looking to his brother for help.  
"We help people, whether or not they think they need to be helped." Dean said, efficiently summing up being a hunter while tactfully neglecting to mention the supernatural aspect of it.  
"A bit like witches then, eh?" Nanny Ogg said cheerfully, nodding to the boys with obvious approval. "Helping even when people are too stupid or stubborn to admit that they need it."  
"Yeah," Dean said slowly, feeling uncomfortable with the comparison.

These women were so unlike the cruel and vengeful witches he had seen, but they had an air of power and control that was dreadfully similar to them.  
_I wouldn't want to get on their bad sides_, Dean thought, and mentally cringed. _I'm already well on my way to being there for that Weatherwax woman... and she's kinda scary.  
_Sam seemed to be taking the whole 'witch' thing better than him. True, he _had_ flinched as much as Dean when the word 'witch' was mentioned, however he had taken it in his ridiculously long-legged stride, being polite and making small talk, while Dean had grumbled and made bad jokes that had been overheard by the scary old woman.

The daylight coming through the window had become golden, indicating the rapidly approaching night.

"Where should they stay Gytha?" Granny Weatherwax asked suddenly, her voice layered with honeyed innocence. "It's getting close to evening and it wouldn't be fair to leave them wandering around Lancre in the dark."  
"Don't think I don't see what you're doing Esme," Nanny Ogg warned, shaking a finger at the other woman. "You came here with those boys and a broomstick, hoping I'd take pity on them and let them stay while you fly off into the sunset." She glanced at Sam and Dean, both of whom had frozen in place. "Oh, you can stay, alright – there are bedrolls and blankets in the cupboard – don't you boys worry. I'm just annoyed at Esme for taking advantage of my better nature."

"Oh, no we couldn't possibly stay!" Sam protested immediately, shutting up when Dean elbowed him sharply in the side.  
"You got any better ideas of where we're sleeping tonight, Sammy?" The older Winchester asked his brother with raised eyebrows. "Didn't think so."  
"Thank you Mrs Ogg." Sam said, and Dean nodded in agreement.

"I'll be leaving now that that's all sorted out," Granny said, a hint of smugness dancing at the edge of her voice. She gathered up her cat, letting it laze around her shoulders again, before she took her broomstick outside and left.

Nanny gave them dinner (which clearly _she_ had not made – she barely left the Winchester boys alone for five minutes) and sent them off to get their beds ready.

While the bed rolls weren't particularly comfortable and the blankets were made of scratchy wool that smelled of mothballs, it was _infinitely_ better than spending a night in an unknown wilderness, and possibly better than spending a night dozing seated upright in the Impala.

After a few minutes of quiet in the dark, Dean began to speak. "Sam?"  
"Yeah?" his brother replied with a sigh. "What is it Dean?"  
"You get the feeling we're being watched?" Dean asked, itching to have a gun in his hands.  
"It's probably Nanny Ogg's cat – you saw the bowl." Sam said. "Or you might just be paranoid because we're trying to sleep in a house of a self-proclaimed witch who is more like a grandmother than any witch we've met." He stifled a yawn. "Go to sleep, Dean. We're gonna have to figure out what we're going to do tomorrow morning."  
Dean grumbled lightly, but didn't actually protest. He knew sensible advice when he heard it, even if he'd never admit to following instructions from his younger brother.

However the brothers were indeed being watched, and it wasn't long after Dean managed to fall asleep that his flask was stolen by a tiny blue man with bright red hair.

"Crivens!"***

* * *

~~~~~~END OF CHAPTER 3~~~~~~

**A/N: **_Well, hello again readers, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I've been less busy than a month ago, but still busy doing this and that nonetheless. Also, I'm having a holiday to Niue in July for a week, before I get back into University, so there will be more of a delay between updates after this. _

_The footnotes/endnotes for this chapter:_

* Nanny Ogg, after having _many_ sons that got married, has a small army of daughter-in-laws that she doesn't like very much... that much is shown because while she can remember her children, son-in-laws and grandchildren _easily,_ she can never remember her daughter-in-laws names and uses them to do ALL of the housework. If they (or any of the Ogg extended family) fall from grace in Nanny Ogg's books their photo gets moved to a place of lesser importance. An individual ending up on the wobbly table by the cat bowl is in serious trouble, and must do all in their power to get bumped up again, or face Nanny's wrath.

** Thunderbolt iron is iron struck by lightning – and is known to be magnetic (or having 'the love of iron' as it's called in the Discworld). It messes with Elves perception; they're sort of magic-magnetic – they know where they are exactly in the world based on Discworld magic – and iron (and magnetic fields) disrupts this, bending their absolute certainty into a much more human-like mental state – it hurts to feel mortal.

*** "Crivens!" is a general exclamation by one of the Nac Mac Feegle **(§) **

**(§)** The Nac Mac Feegle are small, blue and Scottish(ish) – loving to drink, fight and steal. They're also known as pictsies (a pict being a medieval Scottish warrior, and pixies being magical fairy type beings), and are immensely strong – four of them can steal a cow (one per hoof). We shall be seeing more of them in the next chapter. (If you haven't read Terry Pratchett's Young Adult books about Tiffany Aching, starting with _The Wee Free Men_ , then you really should).


	4. Not Like the Smurfs

**A/N: **_Hot damn__, does __Supernatural have some awesome music, or what? I've been listening to it a fair bit lately and getting a whole ton of Winchester related inspiration. Most of which isn't helpful for this fanfic, but oh well, I can't have everything. I'd like to thank to the brilliant people who read and reviewed these past three chapters and have waited so patiently for this one - thank you all __**very**__ much._

* * *

_**Supernaturally Bad Luck**__  
_A Supernatural/Discworld Crossover

Chapter 4:  
Not Like the Smurfs

~~~~~~.~~~~~~

Bobby arrived in the town of Wellsboro as evening fell after driving the whole day, stopping only for gas and bathroom breaks. He was determined to investigate what had killed the weather witches and, more importantly, search for any hint of what happened to Sam and Dean.

He found the cheapest motel and checked for the Winchester boys' booking – a room under the name of Wetton. * The boys hadn't checked out yet, much to the motel manager's annoyance, and there had been no response from the room all day. Bobby offered to clear out the room and give the manager his number in case they wanted to know where their stuff had gone, and this was gratefully accepted.

"Right," Bobby said, once he had loaded Sam and Dean's things in his car and was alone once again. "I better get to those woods and see what's what."

Getting access to the ring of stones was less difficult than he was expecting – it seemed that the Police had gone home for the night already, leaving the hardly foreboding 'Police Line - Do Not Cross' tape between Bobby and the crime scene. He ducked under it with barely a thought – as with most Hunters it was hardly the first time he'd gone into a still closed crime scene.

The bodies of the weather witches had been removed, but signs of their deaths were clear even in the fading daylight – blood was painted grotesquely across the ground and even part way up the standing stones. It had been a _massacre_. The snow that had been reported in the newspapers had obviously melted during the day under the warm summer sun but the evidence of it remained – the ground all around the stone circle was muddy and upturned. There were very clear hoof-prints in the mud, tracking blood away from the crime scene and leading off into the forest.

There was not a hint of Sam or Dean anywhere.  
"Balls."

~~~~~~.~~~~~~

"Rise and shine, Sammy!" Dean said enthusiastically.  
"God, Dean what time is it?" Sam groaned, trying to hide from the world. "Is it even light yet?"  
"Sun's just comin' up now." Dean said cheerfully, pulling back the curtains to let a ray of light fall on his brother's face, who groaned again and pulled the blanket over his head.

In truth, Dean was nearly as unhappy about being awake as Sam, but irritating him into wakefulness was a great source of entertainment. It kept Dean sane... or at least, as sane as any Hunter could be.

Dean would've killed for some loud classic rock and a bacon-y breakfast of deliciousness - the only decent way to start any day, in his opinion, but he settled for humming 'Highway to Hell' as loudly as he could manage, as Sam groaned and tried to bury himself under blankets again.  
"Dude, if you wake Nanny Ogg up and she gets mad, there's _no way_ I'm helping you escape." Sam grumbled from beneath the blanket.

Dean lowered his humming at that threat, but only to the point of making it too quiet to travel to another room while still loud enough to prevent his brother from falling back asleep. Dean was determined that he wasn't going to be the only one of the Winchesters awake in medieval England.

He _so_ hoped bacon was on the agenda for breakfast.

"Fine," Sam said with a long-suffering sigh, "I'm awake, Dean. You can stop humming AC/DC now."  
"I'll stop when it stops being good." Dean replied, grinning at his brother's annoyance before switching to humming 'Back in Black'.

He picked his jacket up from the floor where he'd shrugged it off the previous evening and put it on.  
It was lighter than he was expecting.

"Where's my flask?" Dean said, frowning as he patted down his pockets. "It should be here and it's not. Where is it?"  
"Don't look at me," Sam replied, raising his hands in a defensive gesture. "When have you _ever_ known me to drink before lunch?"

There was a barely audible clink – the sound of something metal being put down gently on something hard. The Winchesters turned towards it and there, on the other side of the room and sitting on a little table amongst pictures of the Ogg clan, was Dean's flask.

He crossed the room in three swift strides, sleepiness long forgotten, picked the metal container up and swished it lightly.  
"It's completely empty," Dean said slowly, as if wishing something would happen to contradict him. "I _swear_ it was filled with Guinness last night."  
"Maybe you just forgot you had it," Sam said, in a tone indicating he thought something was listening.  
"Yeah, maybe, man." Dean replied, tilting his head to acknowledge that he knew what Sam was thinking. He scanned the room for possible weapons, his eyes falling on a poker set next to the small, currently unused fireplace.

Sam spotted it at the same time and, being the closer of the two, pulled two pokers out of the holders without making a sound. He tossed one to his older brother, who caught it expertly.  
"Still, I don't remember putting it down on that table." Dean said as he moved forward, more to make noise to mask his movement than actually wanting to talk.  
"If you had all that Guinness then I'm not surprised you don't remember, Dean." Sam said with false reproach in his voice. "You've got to learn not to drink so much, dude."

The brothers went still and quiet when they heard a small voice coming from the closet.  
"Oi, Rob, the bigjobs are unsuspectin'," it said in a distinctly pleased, strong Scottish accent. "It dinnae matter tha' I forgot to put the flask back."  
"Shut ya gob Daft Wullie, or the bigjobs'll hear us," a second Scottish voice whispered furiously.

Sam and Dean looked at each other in identical expressions of confusion. The little voices didn't sound _threatening_ as such, but they did sound responsible for the alcohol disappearance.

"Ach, I'm quiet as a wee mousie, Rob, quit fashing ya'self," the voice referred to as 'Daft Wullie' replied without worry. "The bigjobs slept right through the stealin' and the drinkin', so what makes ya think they'll notice us naow?"  
"Mebbe cuz the scunners are _awake_ naow, ye great daft thing!" The voice called Rob admonished, his voice raising in volume from annoyance. "And mebbe if we don't bring ourselves to their attention, Daft Wullie, mebbe we might get to steal some more drink from them."

Dean used the not so hushed conversation as cover for inching towards the cupboard. He stretched one hand out to reach for the door handle and lifted his poker with the other. His fingers closed around the handle and he paused, steeling himself to whatever awaited on the other side of the door.

He flung open the door and utterly froze at the sight of the two little blue men, looking for all the world like dirty, angry, red-haired Smurfs.

"Crivens, look what ya did!" Rob said, cuffing Daft Wullie around the head before both of the little blue men disappeared.  
Not like _ghost_ disappeared, with the flickering and the fading, more like simply moving very fast so as to not be there anymore.

"What in the _hell_ were they?" Dean said, recovering slightly from the shock. "I mean, they can't be _Smurfs_ – 'cuz the Smurfs aren't exactly known for stealing and drinking and being _Scottish_." **  
"Or being _real_," Sam pointed out completely reasonably, a smirk on his face.

Dean scowled at his younger brother.

~~~~~~.~~~~~~

Bobby entered the morgue under the guise of FBI Agent Kenneth Stoop***, finding that it was just as disturbing as the crime scene. It had obviously run out of normal storage space, meaning several of the bodies were just out in the open with tarps covering their forms – as if trying to give the dead some dignity since they couldn't be given the conventional holding space. The air conditioning had been dialled right down too, in an effort to keep the less protected corpses as chilled as possible.

Bobby pulled back a tarp gently, and cringed at the gruesome sight.

"Hooves," he said to himself as he looked at the mangled form that no person could realistically identify. Dental records wouldn't do any good, either – there was too little left... but it wasn't Bobby's job to identify them, so he dismissed those thoughts from his mind.  
"That would take one very angry horse to do this kinda damage." He frowned and covered the tarp over the body again, only to examine a different corpse. "And again... Now, what would be able to keep them all there, while whatever it was took its time to massacre these women like this? They're hardly gonna stand by and watch their friends get slaughtered this bad without even thinkin' about runnin' away."

Bobby heard the door to the morgue open quietly, so he ceased narrating his thoughts and pulled the tarp back further. There was a gaping hole in the chest - like this woman had been run through with a javelin.

"Huh, the reports weren't kidding," Bobby said aloud, turning his attention for the first time to the morgue attendant. "Boy, do you know if there were any drugs in these poor women's systems?"  
The young man gave a start at being addressed before hurriedly snatching up a clip-board and flicking through the contents. "Uh, no... There was no alcohol or recognisable drugs of any kind in any of their bodies at all." He looked up at Bobby, worry etched into his young face. "Sir... what could possibly have done this?"  
"I'm working on that," Bobby replied, using his best FBI-Agent voice. "Now, what was the cause of death, the trampling or the great big hole in the chest?"

"The hole, sir," the young morgue attendant said sadly. "Tests show that the trampling was post-mortem, but not by much. Death would have been almost instant, sir."  
"Well at least they didn't suffer the trampling," Bobby said, putting the tarp back over the woman's body and heading for the door.

Bobby grudgingly decided he'd have to look up lore on Unicorns – since that's what all the signs were pointing to, as much as he didn't want to believe it – before figuring out what to do next.

Not that anyone would _ever_ hear that he was researching Unicorns.

~~~~~~.~~~~~~

Nanny Ogg had woken up, initially brought to semi-wakefulness when Greebo had sauntered in and decided that her feet were excellent pin cushions, and then roused into full-on consciousness at the sounds of voices. Feegle voices, more accurately.

Nanny got out of bed with a quiet groan and headed to her liquor cabinet. She opened the door without enthusiasm and... all her bottles were filled exactly as she remembered they were. Nanny Ogg frowned, shut the door and went to her kitchen.  
Again, the alcohol was untouched.

Feeling a lot more awake now, she went to her favourite chair and dug around between the seats. Nanny pulled out the old bottle of scumble she hid there for special occasions and, yet again, the bottle was as full as it should have been, if not quite as full as she'd have liked. (*)

It was bizarre... but it all added up to the likelihood that the Feegles weren't there to drink all her alcohol. Which meant that they had an easier target. Or _targets_.  
And what was the chance that their names were Sam and Dean Winchester?

Nanny snatched up her pointy hat, rammed it on her head, and strode towards the boys' bedroom, really hoping that they hadn't done something stupid like trying to fight the little blue men. Even _Greebo_ wasn't that thick.

The Feegles voices had stopped and Nanny could now hear Sam and Dean talking. Well, at least that meant the Feegles hadn't knocked them unconscious and kicked them black and blue.

Nanny opened the door and saw the brothers turn together, automatically raising the pokers they held in their hands. Their eyes widened comically as they saw the 'intruder' and the poker irons were dropped, clattering loudly on the floor.  
"See, I told you to be quiet!" Sam hissed to his older brother. "You woke Nanny Ogg up!"  
"It's not _my_ fault the Smurfs came to town and drank all my booze!" Dean hissed over his shoulder angrily before turning back to the witch with an apologetic smile. "Uh, we're real sorry if we woke you, Nanny."  
"Nah, you didn't wake me," she said with a dismissive wave of a wrinkled hand. "And I think you may have met the Nac Mac Feegles."

"The Nac Mac Feegles?" Dean repeated with a frown. "What are they? And why did they steal my alcohol?"  
"They're pictsies," Nanny replied, wondering how the young men didn't know about them – the Feegles were infamous all the way down to Ankh Morpork. "They love to drink, fight and steal. How come you don't know of them?"  
Sam was frowning, deep in thought – his face the very image of worry and concern, but it went unnoticed by the other occupants of the room.  
"We're new here, how could we have known about them?" Dean replied.  
"I thought everyone on the Disc knew about them by now," Nanny said with a shrug, before turning away and heading out the door. "Anyway, breakfast is just about ready."  
"Wait, wait, hold up. Did you say: 'the _disc'_?" Dean asked, confusion in his voice.  
"Are you boys coming or not?" She called out.

Dean turned to his brother. "Did she just say 'the _disc'_?"  
"Yeah, I think she did," Sam said, coming to a very unwelcome realisation. "Dean, I don't think we're on Earth anymore. I think this is a whole different world."

~~~~~~.~~~~~~

* * *

**A/N:** _Out of curiosity, does anyone know why people often refer to Dean as being blond in fanfiction? I honestly don't see how he's even remotely blond. I would reckon I'm blonder than he is, and I'm not blonde at all...  
Okay, that's enough of that wee rant._

_I'm just mentioning now that I __**fully intend to finish this story**__. It might be slow, it might be ages between updates (real life has a terrible habit of getting in the way of my writing plans), but it will eventually get done. So never fear – I **shall not** leave this story abandoned. _

_Onto the footnotes!_

* John Wetton was one of the writers (and singers) of 'Heat of the Moment' by Asia, which Dean is a fan of (see _Mystery Spot_, Season 3, Episode 11 if you don't believe me), and since most of the Winchester aliases are either movie or music references, I thought this was apt.

** I know in the recent Smurf movie that there is a Scottish Smurf but (a) this fic is set before 2011, and thus that movie hadn't come out, (b) there's no evidence of any Scottish Smurf in the original shows at all and (c) even if it was 2011 or later for the Winchesters in this story, they are unlikely to have seen it because they seem to rarely get a chance to go to the picture theatres (all their favourite movies are decades old).

*** This name was from a random name generator, and has no inherent meaning, just so you all know. Bobby tends to use things that are either _very_ obscure references or completely random names as aliases.

(*) Scumble is a type of hugely alcoholic Discworld cider, for those of you unaware of this. It's made from apples, or mostly apples, and Nanny Ogg makes her own – which most people find to be too strong for them. The Nac Mac Feegles love the stuff, as does Nanny.

_I hope you enjoyed this chapter, dear readers, and please review before you leave with any questions, comments or suggestions. Or even just to answer my 'Why do people say Dean is blond?' question. It's always appreciated!_

_Chou for now!_


End file.
